Letters from Azkaban

days

no longer
can i determine
one day from another
the stormy grey shrouds my view
and though it may seem so arbitrary
my views shall never vary
for i have no other joy
than the remaining memories
they linger, taunting, ever so taunting
shall i never feel such warmth?
shall i never feel such contentment again?

it feels like years, and perhaps it may be
though time passes slowly,
it takes with it a piece of me

every second, every thought, every moment

i am no longer who i once was
no longer does it seem possible
that you,
perfect and lovely you,
could hold any feelings
save for betrayal and hate

i did not deserve you then
and now,
i am less deserving

you are the peace
i will never again find

Sincerely,
        Sirius